


Sweet Eyes and a Smug Smile

by d-ama-ien (ama_janee)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Fist Fights, Mark in this fic is the character of The Actor, Most content warnings apply to the second chapter, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Real Mark is nice. Actor Mark is not, very brief - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26698456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama_janee/pseuds/d-ama-ien
Summary: I meet Mark at a concerto performance while Damien is away. I know in that instant that Mark is taken by me, his eyes enraptured on my face as he insists on my presence at his upcoming party. I look him in his eyes, nearly frightened by the intensity. There's no barrier of modesty as he clings to my hands, staring deeply into my soul. For a moment, I fear that he's about to grab me and steal me awayI wouldn't read this if you like Actor Mark.(Most of the mentioned content warnings only appear in the second chapter and are not graphic or explicit)
Relationships: Damien | The Mayor/Y/N | The District Attorney (Who Killed Markiplier?), Mark Fischbach/Y/N | The District Attorney
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily inspired by Natasha and Anatole's relationship in the musical The Great Comet. One of my favorites, totally worth a listen, but this fic is mostly inspired by the song "Natasha & Anatole," as well as "The Ball."

"Well, you look ravishing tonight," I'm surprised at the compliment, turning to face the man who had spoken to me. Mark Iplier, a famous actor, was the man in question. Everyone knew of his works; you'd have to be dead and kept under a boulder to have missed his films. "It's a pleasant surprise to run into you here. You've been on my mind since Damien's birthday party,"

Mark takes my hand, pressing a too-long kiss to my knuckles. I flush under the attention, noticing his warm eyes and sweetly naive smile. "How did you enjoy the performance?" he asks, briefly turning his gaze to the empty stage. The concerto I had just watched was long forgotten once my eyes landed on Mark, and all my mind could focus on was how he was just as handsome up close as he had been from a distance.

"I'm afraid it's a bit lost on me, this is the sort of thing Damien has always enjoyed more than me," of course I bring up Damien, my fiance who I adored more than anything. His name almost stuck in my throat when Mark had turned his gaze back upon my face, and I flush as his eyes wander down my neck, and briefly lower before focusing back on my face.

"Damien has always had an affection for the fine arts," Mark replies, agreeably, "A shame he's out of town. And to think he left a pretty thing like you behind, all alone," 

Damien would be gone for a month, at least, having been dragged home by some family duties he couldn't escape. 

"I'm an adult, you know, it isn't like I require a keeper," I answer, slightly confused by Mark's comment.

"Of course, it's just a shame to be without your fiance when you're so close to the wedding, right?" His face was the picture of innocent curiosity, but his eyes were alert, searching my face as I thought of a response.

"I miss Damien terribly, of course, but we aren't going to be attached at the hip just because we're married," Mark smiles brightly, his eyes even brighter.

"I just recalled, I'm hosting a costume party next week. My dear, you should come, have some fun before you're tied down," 

"Oh," I respond, trying to think of a polite refusal.

"You ought to come, please come!" He insists, clasping my hand tightly. I flush deeply at the touch, not used to anything so intimate, except from Damien.

"Oh, I really mustn't,"

"You simply must!"

I know in that instant that Mark is taken by me, his eyes enraptured on my face as he insists on my presence at his party. I look him in his eyes, nearly frightened by the intensity. There's no barrier of modesty as he clings to my hands, staring deeply into my soul. For a moment, I fear that he's about to grab me and steal me away, and I find myself grateful for the many witnesses as I pull my hands away, putting a polite distance between us.

"How do you like being in town at this time of year?" I ask, not even subtle about the change in topic.

"I wasn't enjoying it much at first, but I find myself enjoying it much more as of recent," he says with a wink. My heart nearly stops at the blatant flirtation- Damien and I are _engaged_ , and he's never been so bold with me, but Mark, who I had only met once before, spoke with such shamelessness. "Do come to my costume party, dear friend, do come," 

For a moment, I feel dreadfully isolated, as if no one else is near, no one's eyes on us, no prying ears to come between us. For a moment, I feel closer to Mark than I had been to anyone before as if I knew him in some intimate way that only we could understand. And then there was a cough behind us, and I was relieved to find Damien's driver there, clearly come to rescue me after I had lingered too long after the performance finished. 

"I'm afraid I must take my leave," I smile politely, the moment ruined as I begin to turn away, and Mark's brow briefly furrows. 

"Well, I do hope to see you at my party. You would certainly be the prettiest there," he retakes my hand, planting a final kiss before finally taking his leave. I sigh in relief once he's gone, thanking the driver profusely as we head to the car. 

"Will you attend his party?" the driver asks as we start heading to my family home. I'm the only one staying there this season, so it's nice to have the company of some staff members like the driver.

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. A small and rational part of me knows that I should avoid that man at any cost, stay at home and just write a letter to Damien about Mark's odd behavior.

A larger, and much more tempting, part of me was deeply intrigued by Mark and his offer, wanting to attend and see what he could show me on one of my last outings before I was a newlywed. There was something about him I couldn't place, but I was inclined to trust those kind eyes and the sweetly shy smile when he had first come up to me. The car ride is quiet then, letting me reflect on the strange conversation and on the flutter I felt in my chest as I imagined the upcoming party. My mind is made up before we reach my home, and I have the driver arrange his schedule to take me shopping the next day. 

I will need a new outfit if I am to attend a costume party.

Shopping goes smoothly, I come from wealth and am marrying even wealthier, after all, and the seamstress and her assistants were more than happy to make a rush order for me. I receive my order the day before the party, and I'm admiring the finely crafted clothing when a maid enters with a handful of mail for me. On top, a letter from Damien, and a letter from Mark directly below it. I fawn over Damien's letter for a good while, letting myself feel the love poured into every carefully chosen word. I'm eager to write my response, detailing the week I've had since he left, happily mentioning that I intend to visit his friend, Mark, at a party tomorrow night. He wouldn't get it until tomorrow or the day after, but I was still glad to tell him how I was getting out and socializing, so he didn't have to worry about me while taking care of his business. I finished with a note about how I'm counting the days until we're reunited, signing at the bottom before giving it to the maid to seal and put in the post. 

I open the letter from Mark next, finding an address and notes about tomorrow's party's times and dress codes. Fortunately, my new outfit fits the bill, and I have plenty of glitzy accessories I can show off as well. Damien and I don't go out terribly often; it was a bit exciting to think of dressing up and dancing the night away with costumed strangers. I go to bed early, wanting to be well-rested so I can spend one night ignoring my worries and the ache in my chest that I'd been experiencing since Damien left.


	2. Chapter 2

Mark is the first person to greet me after a butler opens the door, eagerly taking my hand as soon as I enter the foyer. 

"I'm so glad you could come, doll!" He greets me with enthusiasm, that sweet smile catching me off guard once again. Mark sweeps me further inside instantly, leading me to a crowded ballroom. I can feel dozens of pairs of eyes on us, and I nearly flush at the attention. 

The vanity goes to my head almost as quickly as the drink Mark hands me; I nearly feel dizzy with it. I'm drawn into a dance with Mark before I notice it, and there's barely any space between us. As we danced, he pulled me closer, far closer than was proper, his grip tight on my waist as he stared deep into my eyes.

"You are enchanting," he said, voice low, and I had to strain to hear it amongst the music and noise of the other pairs. I feel like I've been drawn into another world- there are couples openly kissing, holding each other in horribly improper ways, and I catch a moan from a passing couple. It's scandalous, indecent, sinful, and I find myself frightened as Mark's other hand brushes my cheek. If Damien were here, we'd be leaving already- or we wouldn't have been invited in the first place. This isn't a place for any decent and moral person of our status. 

"Mark, I'm not sure I can stay," I say, trying to pull away.

Mark only draws me closer, holding me tightly enough that I can do little more than follow his lead.

"You're bewitching, and I think I love you," my breath catches in my throat at those words, my face flushing. Mark's confidence and tenderness had my words stuck; I said nothing as he gazed in my eyes. I knew what I had to say, I knew I had to get away, yet fear clenched my heart, and I couldn't do a thing. "You're bewitching, I'm completely in love with you,"

I look away from his face, unable to take the feeling of his stare any longer. Mark's free hand cups my cheek, nearly burning where it makes contact, turning my gaze back to his face. "Don't lower your eyes, I love you. Gaze in my eyes, I love you. You are bewitching, how could I not?"

I find the words then, pushing his hand off my cheek, "Don't you say such things, I am _engaged_. I love Damien,"

"Is it my fault you're so enchanting?" He asks, grip tightening on my hip.

"Mark, you're upsetting me," I say, finally managing to break away from his grasp, hurrying to find my coat and leave. Mark follows me, blocking me from leaving once I've entered the coat closet. He grips my arm tightly, pulling me close to him, lowering his face towards mine. 

"I can't bear the thought of losing you, will I ever see you again?" He asks. I feel I have no room to breathe or even think; his face is so close that all I can see is his eyes.

"You're hurting me, let go-" Mark cuts me off with a kiss, it's hot, and it's sloppy and horribly uncomfortable. My hand connects with his face before I even realize I'm moving, and it burns from the harsh contact. The sound of the slap rings in the small space. I'm trembling as I push past Mark, ignoring his shocked yell, ignoring the blooming redness on his cheek, ignoring that I had dropped my coat, running for the door before Mark gets his bearings. I hear him following as I fling the door open, ignoring the butler's scandalized glare, ignoring Mark's irritated shout. I was stupid and naive to come, to think I could have harmless fun.

"You can't just leave," Mark nearly shouts as he follows me onto the porch, and I narrowly avoid him grabbing my wrist. I turn to face him, face drawn tight and burning red with anger.

"You call yourself a friend of Damien's? You are a dishonorable and shameful man! I can leave freely, and if you _dare_ touch me again, I shall slap you even harder. I owe you nothing, and you can take your love for me and _shove it down your throat_ ," The words flow freely, dripping with a venom I had never produced before. Mark draws back, looking more angry than wounded. He glares for a moment, but I meet his stare head-on- after a moment, he huffs, reentering his home and slamming the door shut. 

Fortunately, Damien's driver had parked just outside the gates of the property- I was supposed to have a butler call him to come up the drive when I wanted to leave, but that sort of dignified exit hadn't been much of an option. He was visibly worried, hurrying out of the car and catching my elbow when I stumbled on uneven paving. I was grateful he didn't ask any questions, just helped me into the car, offering me his coat for the ride. It was a kind gesture that I was happy to accept, wrapping it tightly around me as he put the car into drive, starting the journey home. I felt numb as the anger faded, partially disgusted that Mark had touched me like that, but mostly tired. Mostly like I wanted Damien. 

It wasn't until I was in my room, party clothes and accessories shed, product washed off my face and out of my hair, that I finally let myself cry, clinging to a pillow that I wish was Damien. I cried until I fell asleep, welcoming the break from my feelings.

I felt a bit better the next morning, but not by much. I only wrap myself in a dressing gown before going downstairs. I wasn't particularly hungry, but the chef worked hard, and I didn't want their food to waste. I briefly noticed that the driver was using the telephone next to the kitchen, but didn't pay it much mind. Telephone usage wasn't cheap, but our family could afford it, and we often let the staff use it a few times every month. I absently wonder who he's calling- the driver was friendly, but I didn't know much about him or his family, assuming he had one. I let myself be distracted by similar trivial things while sipping my tea, occasionally taking a bite from one of the pastries. It was delicious, as usual, but my stomach wasn't feeling particularly enthusiastic about it at the moment. 

I spent the rest of the day in a similar fashion, lazing about, letting my mind wander, occupying my time with some reading, and various mindless tasks.

I'm alone at the dining table that evening, dinner was one of my favorite meals, but I had barely made a dent in the half-hour that I had been sitting there. I was vaguely aware of a door opening but didn't give it much mind. Many servants lived and worked here; it wasn't unusual to hear them coming in and out.

"Darling," my head snaps up the instant I hear his voice, and I scramble out of my seat, nearly throwing myself into Damien's open arms.

"I'm so happy to see you," I cry into his chest; he runs his hand up and down my back, gently soothing, muttering sweet nothings as I calmed down.

"But, you're early!" I pull away, looking at him with confusion, "What happened with your family duties?"

"You're more important than that- but you needn't worry, it's all under control. I'll just need to make a few phone calls next week to check-in," Damien reassures me gently. "Why don't we go sit in the living room?"

The butler brings us tea shortly, the room oppressively quiet other than the sounds of him stirring cream and sugar into each cup. He takes his leave soon after. Damien and I are completely alone now. I can't find anything to say to him, choking on any words I try to form, the guilt in my chest holding them back.

"My love," he starts, voice soft, in a way akin to how you would speak to a frightened animal, "Do you want to tell me what happened at Mark's party?" 

"How do you know something happened?" I ask, genuinely confused. He likely wouldn't have received my initial letter about going to the party yet, and obviously, I hadn't sent him anything about the night.

"Well, my driver called this morning to tell me how you came running out less than an hour after it started, and that the maid heard you crying for hours afterward," it hadn't occurred to me that Damien's driver may actually talk to Damien. It was a little strange to know that the staff had been talking about me to each other as well. But, it was also nice to know they had been worried. As I remember the party, my heart clenches, thinking about what had happened with Mark- I had failed Damien.

"Damien, I don't deserve you," I cry, burying my face in my hands, "I was stupid, so stupid to go,"

"You're not stupid," Damien rests a hand on my knee, but I can't bring myself to look at him. "Love, I've known Mark for ages, and even I can be swayed by him. You can tell me what happened, I won't be upset. I want you to feel better,"

So, I spilled everything, from Mark's too close holds while we danced to how he cornered me and kissed me in the closet. And, as an afterthought, that I had dropped my coat in my haste to leave afterward, and what I had said to Mark when he tried to convince me to stay. Damien was quiet for a good minute; I could see his jaw tense before he took a deep breath. 

"Well, I must say I'm incredibly proud of how you handled yourself, darling. I know it can't have been easy, but he more than earned a slap," I laugh a little, the tears stopping as I realize Damien really isn't mad at me. "Come, let's go to bed. You look like you need a good night's sleep,"

I can't argue with that, and gratefully accept his hand, bringing him upstairs, showing him to my room. It was generally improper to share a bed before marriage, but, well. Damien and I aren't perfect. He holds me close that night, and I fall asleep to his steady breathing.

When I awake, the bed is empty, as is the dining table. A maid tells me that Damien had left a bit ago, leaving me even more confused. I sit in the saloon after eating, having a clear view of the door from there. I gasp when Damien walks through, stumbling as I stand to rush to him.

“Dames, what on Earth did you _do_?” I ask, taking in his appearance. His hair is tousled, the knuckles of his right hand swollen and red, starting to bruise. "My God, is that blood on your shirt?"

Damien smiles slightly, waving off my concerns with his uninjured hand. "I just went to fetch your coat from Mark's is all. We had a little chat, nothing to worry about,"

"Nothing to worry about? You're hurt!"

"Well, you should see him. I can assure you that we won't be attending any of his parties in the future- not that we'll be invited after that little fight,"

"Well," I pause, considering my next words carefully, "Did you get a good hit in?"

"Broke his nose," We grin at each other, devolving into laughter.

"While I'm positively delighted to hear that, we have to get ice for your hand," I hold it gently, he winces as I brush a gentle touch over it, trying to gauge the damage.

"A small price to pay to knock that damn smirk off his face."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not think very highly of Actor, if you can’t tell by how I keep writing him as an ass who constantly crosses boundaries and manipulates people. A) Stan the Great Comet, B) Anatole and Actor are gross so don’t stan them, and C) You can stan Anatole’s songs while hating him, he has some bops but that doesn’t make him less gross.


End file.
